


Now Beside Thee

by Ooze



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, V is Not Part of Vergil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21542107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: The lion watches the lamb, heeds his cries, and with him sleeps. (Alternatively: Shadow and V meet.)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Now Beside Thee

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own interpretation and headcanons. No canon V from me. For reference, he's very late into his teens when he meets Shadow.

_And there the lion’s ruddy eyes_

_Shall flow with tears of gold,_

_And pitying the tender cries,_

_And walking round the fold, ..._

* * *

The color of a starless night, devoid of any light; black as ink, a thing of shadow with a depth impenetrable and a nature inscrutable. If not for points of amaranth red breaking through the darkness, its form would have been indistinguishable. Brought forth from the infernal abyss was a beast both obscure and lethal. Man's folly ripped her from her land and she would have recompense. But it was not a man she beheld now, but a _boy_ , and he'd _dared_ to pull her through the art on the floor: an inverted pentagram he'd call it, but a thing nameless yet known to her and her kin. The audacity of that little fool would cost him his head.

She'd heard him speak as she was birthed into a world foreign. His intent vocalized through something she'd recognize as an incantation—but not one she'd heard before. His tongue was one she understood, learned from generations past. Her kind had been for many an age invoked by others of _his_ kind; come into contact with them either above or below the dividing line laid between realms, and so the practice seemingly continued, however to humanity's error. A great many more of them had been slain by the beasts they hoped to subjugate than there'd been conjurers successful in their attempts. She appeared in full form, body and limbs, whiskers and all. In her eyes burned a fire demonic, a revulsion for this forced change and an enmity for the scrawny little creature in her sights.

In the room she blended almost perfectly, the space small and dim, though lit candles covering the demon's sides waved in greeting with their tiny orange flames, their shadows thrown upon the walls. New scents confused her, though few were familiar—the most notable of all belonging to the other demon in the room. Now, what sort of a hapless little _fowl_ would stoop so low as to abide by a human equally pitiable? _Insulting._ These were the creatures who'd pulled her into their grasp. They reeked of apprehension, the avian one particularly of _prey_ , and that of a kind she'd sunk her fangs into before.

Instincts pushed her to stalk toward the child who'd sought to tame her. His words made as much clear, and he'd _not have_ her. In an act of defiance, fangs were flashed and a snarl was returned. She may have never once met a human, but she heard enough of them to know they were cowardly. She'd not been proven wrong: the boy backed away from her, urging her to submit, and that demon of his alliance had spoken in cautionary tones, warning of danger. How utterly appropriate. They'd not known her species, beasts born of shadow, stealth, and unrelenting aggression. Efficient, effective predators from birth to death. She would _show_ them—and she backed the boy against the wall, heedless to his will, coiling her muscles to propel herself onto him and snap his little neck in one swift, simple motion. Misfortune lied in wait for her, however, and it had ultimately ruined her vision of retaliation when she found that she could _not_ harm the boy, no matter her effort. Something stopped her, a power unknown to her and incomprehensible; a force effected by the tiny human before her, and it frustrated her all the more. She stilled before him, glaring her hatred into his bright eyes. She'd felt his anxiety, a fear that should have been too easily rent right when she willed it. With her will impeded, she had but to stand down. A hateful thing to a beast as proud as she, but all the same she sunk into shadow and parted from the conjurer's sight.

Liquid night melted into the darkness. A pair of rubies gleamed from the floor, slid backward toward the other end of the room, and ultimately vanished altogether. The room was her prison, its confines the space she'd been allowed to haunt, and she decided at once to exploit it; the dark, the trepidation she still could scent in the air were now hers to bend to her machinations.

It was the boy, she knew, who tied her to this space and kept her shackled. It was the boy in control, but the taste of such a privilege _she'd_ ensure would be fleeting. In binding her to this place, he'd bound himself; and, thus, the two would enter a battle of wills. It was no question whose will would prevail, and the demon born of shadow needed only to wait. A mightier being than he, than even the raptor at his side: the perfect predator poised to kill when the moment was ripe. Brutal ferocity or refined stealth, she excelled at both. From the shadows she observed, blinking her blood-red eyes from the blackness surrounding. From the corners she'd gleamed; the middle of the floor; the wall beneath the window; the ceiling—and all the time the candles burned on. She dodged their light, keeping to the dark, vocalizing intermittently with an ominous hiss here, a resentful growl there. All to put the boy on edge, and there he went—he remained, closer and closer toward the brink he drew.

The first day saw no victory: both beast and boy persisted, strong and immovable, resolute. While free roam of the enclosed space was hers, he resigned himself to the wall she forced him unto. Sat on the floor, back to the plaster, his winged companion faithfully beside him. Death stalked him from where he could not see; the candles expired one by one, painfully dimming to welcome an utter blackout. All the more to _her_ favor. The second day brought about the same result, and not once had the shadow taken form. Left the little sorcerer in anticipation; too effective. Peridots darted all around, she saw, no matter how much effort went into taming a quivering heart. That he'd lasted this long was _singular_. Not a thing to drag, thought the demon, noting how he'd begun to wear fatigue like a loose garment over a fragile frame. The anxiety on its own would be the death of him, but she had to worsen the tension— _tighten the noose_.

Mild surprise welcomed the third day of battle. The boy sat awake, suffering clearly. His will had endured from dawn to dusk, dawn to dusk and outlived the flames and wax; the beast bathed in shadow endured with him. Haggard was he, standing on the brink of consciousness. Should his lids fall, the demon would snap! So close, her freedom, she'd have become restless if she were any lesser creature. From the depths of darkness her ruby reds gleamed, watching with keenest interest the child and his subordinate. Demons were hardier, she knew that for a fact. The raptor did not fare as badly as its master, and in fact chatted with mounting frequency. It appeared to anchor the boy to the world to which he'd so far belonged. A mind so battle worn could not survive the war, ultimately, and it was this inevitability that the demon anticipated. She knew weakened prey when she saw it, but there also surfaced an element of esteem throughout the wait, and perhaps that too was inevitable. The longer the boy willed his survival, the more remarkable it was to her. To think that her captor was worth anything beyond a meal—but she was a demon of age, of _many ages_ , and of all the things she'd seen in her lifetime, she would admit that she'd met a human child with enough _foolhardy_ daring to challenge her power of will. He sought to tame her, to claim her and use her—a very bold thing to attempt. It smacked of arrogance, and the beast black as night would not allow him the satisfaction. Four days, then, to see him closer to his end.

From the darkest corner of the room she watched, unbothered by the gray morning light splashed over closed blinds. A desperate clamor was all the blue-feathered fiend was good for, it seemed, blasting its criticisms and concerns without regard for its own master's state of mind. A change took place overnight, one the peering darkness had noted but left quite alone. The strings were pulled to their breaking point, but in quite a way she hadn't expected. Taut were the nerves for days, but now they'd gone slack. Snapped down the middle. The eyes were glazed with exhaustion, the heart weathered but the soul as yet lit aflame. Had terror run its course? What good was the hunt without the prey's distress? Reclined was the lean little sorcerer, motionless as he sat limply against the wall with his lids bravely forced open. Blood-eyed was the demon he pulled from the pattern on the floor; bright-eyed was she who'd studied him since, learning of her prey and knowing, at last, how and when he'd set her free. One little push to tip him off of the brink and the shackles would break. She might have done the pushing herself, but all throughout the wait she'd done little to nothing to ruin him. What were a few more hours to her? They passed as so many more prior. Morning light changed to afternoon, changed to evening, and the passage of another dusk would come with her still inside the room.

The boy looked as though he'd begun expiring. Sickly pale was his skin and his eyes distant. Nonetheless, the demon sensed the life in him—diminished, maybe, but enduring. For skin stretched over bones, he was strong. The wait doubled as a vigil. Eyes without desire, stomach without hunger, the killing instinct calmed. The longer the sorcerer battled her, the more she wanted to see it to the end—and not because she wanted him dead, but there bloomed a great, perhaps _greater_ , fascination with the durability of his will. Curious was the beast, wondering what sort of a child he was. No, he was not all _human_ and she'd scented that from the outset. The first day found her boiling, but on the second day her temper had cooled. She was prudent as she was demoniac, and had it not been for her age she may have continued to threaten her prey directly. Those in her sights neglected to take their notes: they'd been afraid of her while she, at most, uttered growls and blinked her blood-red eyes at them. The third day was silent, but only the avian demon filled the space with its noise. The Shadow held her tongue, did nothing but watch. Patience was her virtue. Silently she stalked all about the room, registering the changes in odors. The boy's being of most importance to her, she discerned his fading condition. From this she knew his hold over her would fail.

But he was not dying. Only tiring.

So came the final trial. Four nights in a row, now, and drive had met its end. Rather a disappointment, but inevitable: the boy was fallible after all. He'd survived remarkably this long, no achievable feat for another his age _and_ breed. Stubbornly he fought her, _for_ her, but she saw in him a resignation that eve. _Surrender_. The war was never his to win. Whatever force he'd employed to stave off her retaliation had fallen apart. Her opportunity at last at hand as the light faded. But the present hour brought with it a night sky, time having passed as she watched her captor. His lids had closed but the feathered hellion kept him conscious. Now was the time, she thought; no longer was there the need to prolong their fates.

Noiseless was her manifestation. She gathered mass as she rose from the floor, taking on her feline form as shadows congregated to rebuild her, nose to tail. Amid the dark her ruby reds blinked to sustained life. From the inverted pentagram she emerged as if the beginning of the conjuring all over again, only this time she'd no reins to subdue her. She ignored the demon at the boy's side when it noticed her; its frantic clamor was irritating to be sure, but such a lowly tool was far beneath her attention, _undeserving_ of it. The noise was successful in forcing the child's eyes open, however, and into them the ruby reds stared. Panic renewed, the heart set on fire—he reacted accordingly, but his body was uncooperative and barred from escape. Beside him, the other demon poised itself defensively between its master and his death. Hackles raised and violet sparks danced all across, but the child's voice commanded attention—in itself, not a thing heard for some prolonged time. A gentle, feeble sound that meant to dissuade his protector. So willing to let go, was he?

What few words were spoken had moved his demon beside him again, but it was not without protestation. Through this, he bade her come, and so she approached him with eye contact enduring. Faint was he, she smelled it; she stopped before him, barely any space between the two, and regarded the human a moment—even as he lifted an arm and reached a hand out to her, palm forward and fingers weakly extended. His heart drummed in his chest; she could tell that easily. To contrast, she was utterly relaxed as _she_ , no other, held his life. What had he offered, she had to wonder, by showing his hand? Surely it was no attempt at _stopping_ her. He hadn't the will for that any longer. The demon at his side argued horribly against this, ever threatening with its stance and proposed electrical shocks. Empty promises: no harm came to her from the lowlife. The beast born of shadow instead gave her attention to the hand left oh-so close to her muzzle. Even if she'd known to fear no man, she exercised caution when she drew close enough to ghost his digits. Warm was her breath when she exhaled on pallid flesh, and she took in his scent keenly. No hostility in him, not as far as she could discern, and he was nothing more than a weak little boy besides. Even lost the will to live; she discerned that, too. For all of his pitiable existence, he was...rather a remarkable half-breed. None so like him from what the Shadow had known of his kind—and perhaps, _perhaps_ , he deserved credit for having tamed and bound a demon, its nature and status notwithstanding.

Ambitious little sorcerer for attempting to do the same with _her_.

The hand trembled in the air, ready to fall limp. Her nose touched his palm, the hand collapsed and its fingers feebly held on to the demon's muzzle. A snap of the fangs was due for that, but he'd not see it from her. No skepticism, no aggression, not a growl to be heard. Cool was the feline in his presence, patient with his touch, and she dragged in a lungful of his scent through what meager contact was afforded them. She caught the sound of his breaths, agitated as if he were to speak, and she blinked into his eyes as consequence. It was fleeting, and again the hand had her attention—so much that it drew from her mouth her tongue and silently bade its warmth. Rough and damp; it swept skyward across the boy's palm, tasting for the first time his flesh and sweat and perceiving things that went unheard, unseen, not really _felt_ until now. Only one lap and she was finished; the tongue withdrew behind flesh-rending fangs, leaving her contemplative the while she watched weary green eyes. In pause she stood motionless, silent as she listened to the pathetic whimper the boy had forced out of himself—and that only _just so_ , for his strength had faded entirely by the time he'd finished and, to mark his descent into unconsciousness, his hand slipped from the demon's muzzle to fall by his flank. The lids sealed themselves, the raptor panicked and hurled accusations and obscenities at the beast born of shadow, but she sensed his heartbeat; the light hadn't yet gone. It wouldn't.

What he'd tried to say before he blacked out was, really, an unfinished thought. Nothing fully comprehensible. He spoke in the first person, he noted _himself_ , and a word meant to follow but it collapsed in his mouth. So, he reclined against the wall wholly vulnerable to vengeance, solely dependent upon the protection of his familiar, as good as dead to the world around him and he would depart unfulfilled.

That did not come to pass. The day following would find him in repose upon the couch in another room. He awoke to find himself in company: Griffon, its name was learned, there to keep vigil, and the one left nameless seated on her haunches before the little sorcerer. How weary he, alive and conscious by some supernatural wonder. His fortitude entranced. That was why she was here. She'd decided some time ago, after all.

Lo, none were threatened by the other. None fearful, none disinclined (save for the raptor, tentatively observant). The child was calm, she sensed it now, and he gathered what little strength he had recuperated to voice a thought formerly left unfinished. “I need you,” was what she'd heard, and this she understood. From where he lay, he offered his hand to her, and again she responded with a touch. This time was different: with nose to palm, hearts aligned, the connection forged. A _bond_. With it came a name—one the raptor critiqued but _she_ accepted—and, later, a master to protect. To join Griffon upon the human canvas was new, but she adapted as she'd done with all changes prior; and, like Griffon, _Shadow_ would not waver in her duties.

* * *

_‘And now beside thee, bleating lamb,  
I can lie down and sleep; … ’_


End file.
